The Pineapple Project
by grabthefish
Summary: They'd spent the last two hours carving, Carlton covered in orange goo and Shawn in yellow, the psychic having convinced the cop that it was entirely acceptable to stick a candle in a pineapple instead of a pumpkin...


**The Pineapple Project**

They'd spent the last two hours carving, Carlton covered in orange goo and Shawn in yellow, the psychic having convinced the cop that it was perfectly acceptable to stick a candle in a pineapple instead of a pumpkin. Tradition was whatever you made it, he'd said, and he'd been carving pineapples for years. Besides, it was entirely possible that his citrusy loves would get jealous were they to hear of his betrayal, choosing something as generic as a gourd when he could be carving the king of fruits instead. Or so he'd rambled in the grocery store when they went to get supplies, Shawn's hands running up Carlton's sides to tease and cajole, laying it on thick to convince him.

Carlton had quickly acquiesced to the request. He'd been with Shawn a little under a year at that point and was finding it harder and harder to deny the man's needs, both in and out of the sack, the grin Shawn shot him when overjoyed the thing that kept him going most days. So, it was pumpkins for Carlton and pineapples for Shawn, and really, he didn't care so long as they were doing something that made them happy and doing it together.

Halloween had always been Shawn's favorite time of year and he made sure to enjoy it to the fullest extent. Carlton, on the other hand, had hated the holiday up until he had started dating Shawn. Hell, if it weren't for the pseudo-psychic, he'd probably still hate it. But Halloween was when Shawn had first kissed him, the black of his face paint pressed against Carlton's lips in a waxy yet somehow incredibly sexy way, the man quickly convincing him that All Hallows Eve was the one night a year they could be anybody they wanted to.

Carlton had been that man ever since.

Their relationship had started in a blur. A far less drunken than expected Carlton had accosted Shawn after their shared kiss to take him up on the offer that had been whispered in his ear an hour earlier, the men leaving McNab's party hand in hand in the dead of the night, neither caring what anyone else thought. Shawn grabbed Carlton on a regular basis and Carlton honestly couldn't give two shits if somebody realized that this time he had grabbed back. Life was too short, and he was tired, so tired, of living up to their expectations.

So, he didn't. But he had blown Shawn's out of the water.

Two days later, he had walked into Vick's office, closed the door with his foot and announced "I'm dating Spencer. Is that going to be a problem?"

Once she managed to wipe the look of shock off her face, Karen had told him that it was fine so long as they managed to keep things professional at work, Shawn's being a consultant and not a fellow officer in no way preventing them from having a relationship. Carlton's stony stare had faded at that, the man bursting into a full-on belly laugh as he looked at his boss and asked when Shawn had _ever_ been professional. Vick had paused for a moment to consider and a smile slowly crept across her face as she admitted he had a point. So, it was fine, and they were open about it, and the only officer who had ever said anything remotely homophobic had found himself transferred pretty quickly, putting in a request after mysteriously falling down a flight of stairs one late afternoon.

For Christmas, Carlton had given Shawn a basket of pineapple lube, two all-access passes to California Adventure with the promise of a long-weekend away attached, and a key to his house. On top of his own presents, Shawn had given him hours of amazing sex in return. The look of shock on the man's face when he'd seen the tiny piece of brass on a personalized pineapple keyring was one of Carlton's favorite memories from their relationship thus far. Shawn had guessed the other parts of his gift, quite cockily as a matter of fact, but not that Carlton was ready for their relationship to go to the next level so soon. His jaw had hit the floor and he had looked at Carlton with bewilderment, surprised and overwhelmed and a little emotional, and Carlton had memorized that look and kept it close, a reminder that it was, in fact, possible to keep Shawn on his toes.

Two months later, they were officially living together, and though Carlton had worried about it at first – worried that Shawn would drive him crazy or be messy or get scared and leave – none of that had happened. They'd been happy. It had been idyllic, in its own living with and loving a madman way. Shawn did his thing and Carlton did his and sometimes they collided in the same kinds of arguments they always had, but sometimes those arguments ended in mind-blowing sex, so really, Carlton wasn't complaining.

Now, he was complaining, though.

"How are you still not done, Spencer? I've carved three pumpkins in the time you've taken to carve one pineapple. Not even one. More like two thirds of a pineapple," he said, glancing across the table, trying to take a gander at his lover's skills. "What are you even working on, anyway?"

"Ah ah ah, Lassmaster 5000. I told you no peeking!"

Carlton sat up in his chair, sliding his knife onto the table and replacing it with his warm cup of apple cider, slowly taking a sip. Shawn _had_ said no peeking, but it didn't mean he hadn't and wouldn't continue to try.

"I thought you wanted to binge the Halloweentown movies after this," he said, rolling his eyes and questioning how he had gotten roped into agreeing to the marathon in the first place. Probably the delight in Shawn's eyes when he'd asked. That and the knowledge he'd be pressed up close, tucked under Carlton's arm and susceptible to the distraction of wandering hands and sweet kisses while they watched. "There won't be time for more than one if you don't hurry up."

"Lassie, you can't rush perfection," Shawn insisted, spinning the blade in his fingers, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed as he carved out another slice. "And trust me when I say this is the most perfect thing I ever did see."

Carlton sighed, knowing there was no use arguing.

"I bet you'd be done already if you didn't pick such a spiky subject, you know."

Shawn looked up in mock-shock, sliding the pack of tea-light candles Carlton's way. "Shush, you. Just focus on finishing yours and we can put these on the porch. Besides, my design is majestic! And as such, it had to be carved from the most majestic of 'napples, Lassie. You'll understand when you see it. Which," he said with a smile that made Carlton worry, "should be right… about… now!"

He spun his masterpiece around and Carlton stared.

It took him a moment, brain grinding like an unoiled gear in his head, before –

"Spencer… did you just carve a dick into your fruit?"

His jaw clenched, and he glanced back at his beau, the most innocent look he'd ever seen scrawled across Shawn's face.

"Not just _any_ dick, Lassie! It's my pièce de rédickstance! The king of all dicks! The cock of the walk! The one that rocks and makes me squawk!"

If looks could kill, Carlton was pretty sure he'd be considering corpse disposal right now, his boyfriend dead on the floor, a hole bored in his head.

"Is that supposed to be _my_ dick?" he asked in a tone that came out entirely as a growl, his fist clenched tight enough around his cup that he heard the handle crack. Freeing his fingers to wrap around Shawn's neck if necessary, he set it down and glowered. "Are you trying to tell me you spent the last two hours carving _my penis_ into a pineapple?"

Shawn smirked, the little bastard obviously proud of himself. "Yuh-huh! From memory, too! Couldn't you tell? It's got this vein here that throbs just like the one in your forehead is doing right now–" he said, pointing and trying to continue.

"Shut up, Spencer," Carlton interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose in what could only be described as exasperated affection. "I can't believe you thought that was a good idea. You _know_ that's not going on the front step, right?"

"Of course not," Shawn responded, cocking his head and looking at Carlton like he was the crazy one. "I made this one for the bedroom!"

"The bedroom – ?"

"Yes, Lassiepants. The bedroom," Shawn insisted. "You know, that place where we have pillow fights and incredibly kinky sex and also sometimes occasionally sleep?" He wide-eye blinked, waiting for Carlton's brain to catch up. "My favorite place in the whole house?"

"You wanna put my dick in the bedroom?" Carlton asked dumbly, still trying to wrap his mind around the sensical non-sensicalness that was his live-in lover. He picked up the offending piece of produce and considered it carefully. It really _was_ his dick, and he had to bite back a laugh at the audacity of it. Leave it to Spencer to turn something as wholesome as pumpkin – sorry, _pineapple_ – carving into something so indecent.

"Well, if we're talking right _now_ , I have a few other places I'd prefer to put your dick, actually. Like my mouth, or my hand or my – "

"Shawn," Carlton warned with a glare he didn't mean, his cheeks feeling flush at the suggestion.

Shawn continued undeterred, his grin bordering on lecherous.

"But if you mean my shiny new peen-apple, yeah, the bedroom's a good place, don't you think?"

Carlton sighed again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah," he said, placing it back on their kitchen table and reveling in the amusement on the other man's face. "It'll do."

Shawn smiled, standing up and moving forward as Carlton set the pineapple down, one hand wrapping around the cop's waist as the other hand cupped his head, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Good," he whispered. "Now, will you?"

Carlton pressed his lips against the curve of Shawn's jaw, murmuring as he left quick kisses trailing up to the psychic's ear, where he nipped and licked and whispered back.

"But what about the movies?" he asked, his hands sliding beneath Shawn's two shirts, fingers reaching out to flick a nipple.

Shawn's upper body pulled away while his lower half thrust forward of its own accord, his eyes locked on Carlton's and a serious look on his face as he gently moaned.

"Ohh, Lassie. You should know by now that I'd rather do you."

And he did, all night long, giving Carlton three orgasms to his one just to make up for the pineapple, crowing about the fact that he was right after all – the best place in the house for Carlton's dick was, in fact, the bedroom.


End file.
